Unsaid Goodbye
by CaptainOzone
Summary: Since regaining his memories, Jack has built a dam around his emotions, and he struggles not to think about his sister and how his "death" affected her. After meeting a new Spirit, however, that dam is broken, and Jack is given a chance to go back in time to see his sister one last time. Post-movie.
1. Hide and Seek

Disclaimer: I don't own RotG

AN: *waves shyly* Hello, everyone! This is my first RotG fanfic, so I'm a little nervous about it. I'm generally a Merlin fanfic author, but I was convinced by a friend (carinims01) to give this a shot. Listening to "Is This the Day?" by Hoobastank didn't make the plot bunny very easy to ignore, too. Seriously, go listen to this song, and you'll be having Jack Frost feels all over the place.

A few notes, and I'll be out of your hair for the rest of the fic. **1)** I chose to use the name "Pippa" for Jack's sister in this fic because I could not get the idea of him calling her "Pip" for short out of my mind. It is too cute. **2)** I have never read the books, so I apologize if something seems out of canon. **3)** I suck at writing in an Australian accent. I am so sorry about that. **4)** This three-shot is already fully written! Nearly 13k words total! I actually wrote it backwards (starting with chapter three, I mean), so we'll have to see how that goes. I will be updating again in a few days.

With that, enjoy "Unsaid Goodbye!" All mistakes are my own.

* * *

**~Hide and Seek~**

"I was never fond of 'ide'n'seek."

Jack, an expression of disbelief on his face, turns around to address the bemoaning Bunny. "Don't you _hide_ eggs for children to _seek_?" he asks, quirking a brow and smirking.

"Oi, no need to be a smar' arse," Bunny grumbles with a scowl. "This is diff'rent an' ya know it. An' whaddya stoppin' for?" He pushes Jack lightly from behind. "We shoulda never sep'rated from th' othas, but we migh' as well keep goin' now tha' we 'ave."

Jack rolls his eyes, but he continues through the abandoned park, his staff at the ready. "Well, you didn't _have_ to follow me."

"'Course I did. Ya ge' in trouble whereva ya go, and don' even—"

"Save the lecture. It's only one of them," Jack interrupts. "I could have handled it."

And he most certainly could have, if he had caught up to it in time. One stray Nightmare without its herd is hardly a threat, admittedly—without Pitch to direct them, they had few sentient thoughts and no ability to make truly strategic decisions—but even so, Jack most certainly did _not _like the idea of letting one slip through their fingers. Besides, his fellow Guardians had been disposing of its companions just fine, so he figured they'd _thank_ him for offering to track down the one that escaped because Lord knows how _frustrating _it's been at times to try to round up all the stragglers after the ordeal with Pitch. It seemed that every time they thought they got them all, another small herd or a lone wolf would appear out of nowhere.

They liked to play hide and seek, Jack had been quick to discover and relate to his friends. Alone, a Nightmare could still be a threat to a child, but it did not have enough power to corrupt more than a single dream or so much as overcome a minor Spirit, let alone a _Guardian_. Together, they were far more formidable, even without Pitch to order them around. After feeding on the suspense of the seeker from its hiding place, however? In either case, their power grew.

It is a very good thing, then, that Jack is an _expert _at this game.

"Did you even 'ear us tellin' ya ta wait?"

"'Course I did," Jack scoffs. "I just didn't listen. Do I ever? I didn't want it to escape."

Bunny mutters something like "bloody teenager" under his breath before saying sardonically, "Well, it's gone 'n' escaped now, hasn' it? Prob'ly long gone by now, mate."

"That wasn't my fault!" Jack hisses, suddenly very aware of the prickling sensation one associates with the feeling of being watched on the back of his neck. "I had it in sight, but then you distracted me, coming up behind me like that. Now shut up. It's still here. Can't you feel it?"

To his credit, Bunny catches the seriousness in Jack's tone and stops speaking, his ears twitching in every direction and green eyes darting to and fro. With bated breath, Jack himself pivots slowly on his foot and squints through the fog at the shadowy figure of a rickety old swing set and playground structure.

It is here. He knows it. Immediately, he seeks out the best hiding spots, the hidden nooks and crannies of the contorted metal bars and plastic slides…

Jack smirks. _There you are._

Without warning, he shoots a bolt of ice at the dark space tucked behind a fake rock-wall, and the Nightmare bolts out, its glowing eyes and nostrils wide. A cussing Bunny nearly jumps out of his skin behind him, and he is delayed in following up Jack's attack with his boomerangs.

"Coulda given me a little warnin'!" Bunny shouts as the boomerangs fly wide and miss the rearing and shrieking Nightmare entirely, which gives it the time to turn heel and _fly_.

Jack laughs and shoots himself into the air, yelling behind him, "Where's the fun in that?"

Pitch's stray is fast, but Jack is faster. He heads it off easily, and with another shot of ice, he redirects it toward Bunny, who is taking aim with one of his egg smoke bombs. The Nightmare, trapped between two Guardians, tries to skid to a stop in midair, but in doing so, it provides Bunny with a target the size of a broad side of a barn.

The egg explodes against its flank in a puff of pastel yellow, and as its leg begins to disintegrate into black sand, Jack rushes up from behind and cuts it in half a wide sweep of his glowing staff.

When the thing completely loses its form and scatters into the wind, every black particle flickering gold before disappearing entirely, a victorious grin spreads across his face, and he abruptly halts, pumping his fist in the air and exclaiming, "Yeah! We got him!"

Bunny smiles at his younger friend, amused by how excitable he is, and he looks like he's about to shout some jest at him when suddenly, his entire expression morphs. "Jack!" he hisses under his breath. "Behind you. Slowly."

Confused, Jack slowly spins around to see a whole herd—eleven…no, was that _twelve_ of them?—emerging from the abandoned playground and standing as still and silent as pillars in the eerie glow of the streetlamps. In order not to spook them, Jack makes no abrupt movements, and he lowers his body out of the air and backs away, drawing level with Bunny. Internally, he's chastising himself for his lack of foresight, for not _checking _to see if there were others there.

His cautious movements do no good. The Nightmares are on them before he knows it, and somehow, someway, Jack loses Bunny in the fog. He fights in a flurry of ice, wind, and snow, and he cannot be sure which Nightmares he's fought and which ones he hasn't. He is sure that he's destroyed at least three of the Nightmares, if not four, and who knows how many he's had a hand in weakening. Who knows just how many slipped away from the fight, unseen and unnoticed.

When his keen ears pick up the sound of North bellowing orders through the fog and a golden glow begins to penetrate even the thickest of it, Jack releases a relieved chuckle—with the five Guardians reunited, they would make quick work of them—and says to the Nightmare he's currently fighting, "You're in _big_ trouble now."

But not in as much trouble as _he's _going to be in, he knew.

_"This i'nt tha time ta be playin' tha hero, Jack!" _Bunny had chastised the first time this had happened. _"Ya nee' ta see tha big picture here!"_

_"We are a team, Jack," _Tooth had said to him in private. "_Don't forget that. We don't want to see you hurt_."

_"Too rash, too bold, Jack!" _North had ranted passionately._ "There no need to prove anything to us, do you understand? You already Guardian. You already one of us. We know worth."_

Sandy might have been the worst, however, and that silent frown of mild disapproval and sympathy had remained with him…even if it hadn't been enough to stop him from doing it again…and again…and again.

They still lecture, but at this point, they grudgingly accept it. As an unspoken compromise, they started to make sure at least one other Guardian was on his heels when he decided to go on one of his solo runs. They still don't know that he feels _obligated _to go off on his own from time to time. They don't know _why _he does it, and he isn't quite ready to tell them yet.

In light of how recently he regained his memories, his reluctance to tell them about his previous life is understandable. After all, flashbacks still occurred, and because of this, he was still trying to reconcile his old life with that of his new. That is something he must do for himself and _by _himself before he can even think of fully opening up to them.

If there was one thing he knew for sure, however, it was that the moment he saw his sister's face again, he clearly remembered the exact promise he had made, the promise that had sealed his fate and created the roots to his Center. The promise? Long, long ago, when a little baby girl first tried to grab at his nose and giggled when he scowled at her… he made a promise that he would give _anything_ to see her smile, to hear her laugh.

That was his purpose as an older brother, and in memory of all that his sister meant to him, he would keep that promise, even if it were the last thing he did.

So whenever a single one of those Nightmares threatened to erase laughter from a child's life and replace it with fear…he couldn't help himself, and he _wouldn't _stop until every last one of the loathsome creatures were wiped from existence.

That being said, it makes sense that Jack wouldn't even think twice when he heard a cry of fear—a plea for help—nearby.

No, of course Jack doesn't think twice. After finishing off his opponent, he rockets skyward so that he can see the entirety of the park. It is thanks to Sandy's glowing sand that the fog is a little less dense than it was, and his icy eyes, desperate to find the source of the scream, scan every inch of the area.

There! A strange…shroud, shimmering like a mirage in the desert, catches his eye, and he dives directly for it, his staff at the ready.

Another scream splits through the air, and nearly faltering when a montage of flashbacks pelts his mind, Jack shakes his head stubbornly and mutters, "Faster, faster! Come on!"

The two Nightmares, which are stalking menacingly toward the park's fountain, are in sight now, and Jack repositions himself so that he's falling feet first. Snapping his ankles together, he doesn't slow down, and his bare feet smash into the spine of one of the Nightmares, making it crumple. Jack somersaults off before spinning into the air once again to send a wave of ice magic toward it.

Unable to defend itself after Jack's initial attack, it explodes into black sand, but since its buddy has had plenty of time to react to his sudden appearance, the winter Spirit does not realize that it has begun to charge at him until it collides headfirst into his gut.

Do you remember those nights…when you are so lost in a nightmare that, when you _finally _jolt yourself out of it, it takes what feels like _hours _for you to realize what is real and what isn't? Before that moment, your heart doesn't stop, and your insides quiver with the lingering sense of terror, terror so overpowering that it nearly crushes you from the inside out. Within the nightmare itself, the suspense alone is…_consuming_, and you cannot scream. Sometimes you cannot run, and there is no hiding…

When a Nightmare touches a sleeping child, darkness enters their dreams. Fear spawns. At least they can wake up to a reality in which there is some light to be found eventually. When a Nightmare touches one who is _awake_, as Jack was, there is nothing to wake up to. Light is nowhere within reach, not when a single touch reawakens all the darkness and fear Jack had ever experienced in both his previous and current lives.

He doesn't fear the Nightmares. He doesn't fear a lot of things. One thing he does fear, more than anything, is failing those who need him, and a single touch from a Nightmare projects those fears and makes them _real_.

The frightened whimpers behind him remind him that failure is _not _an option.

At the impact, he is sent sprawling. His staff flies from his hand, and his panic at the loss overrides the effect of the Nightmare's touch. Gasping, he quickly flips onto his hands and knees. He can sense the Nightmare approaching behind, but without his staff, his magic is still weak at best, and he dare not try anything risky with his magic without the conduit. Since becoming a Guardian and gaining believers, this has been changing, but that staff—he feels naked and powerless without it.

He spots it near the base of the fountain, and after lunging for it, Jack feels the Nightmare's teeth latch onto the hood of his sweatshirt and begin to pull him upright. The hoodie begins to constrict around his throat, and thinking quickly, Jack does the only thing he can do. He tugs at the ever-present cold in his chest—the source of his magic—and allows it to spread from his fingertips and up through his staff, which he ferociously jabs upward from behind his back.

Even blind, his staff slices through the Nightmare, and its teeth release him. With a huge gulp of air, Jack unconsciously rubs his neck and scrambles to his feet again.

When he turns to face the Nightmare, however, he finds that it is already dissipating into the wind, leaving nothing but a clear view of what it had been attacking in the first place.

Silver eyes peer hesitantly over the edge of the fountain pool, and Jack blinks, not quite comprehending what he is seeing. He had expected a child, and this—this was obviously no human.

"Um…hello?" he asks more than says.

The silver eyes stare, regarding him curiously and warily. "Jack Frost."

The voice, undoubtedly female, is as soft and airy as the sea foam that kisses the coastlines. She has the tone of someone continuously stuck in a daydream, and a sense of peace and innocence exudes from her.

If he is surprised at her recognition of him, he gives no sign. He nods encouragingly. "That's me. It's alright. I won't hurt you."

"No," she says dreamily. "You won't, will you? It is not your wish to."

A swell of mist rises from the fountain, and it forms into a fluid image of a little girl. Her eyes shine like the moon, constant and unchanging, but every other physical attribute fades in and out of the pearly mists that comprise her form, never giving him a clear view of her face or limbs.

In all his travels over the three hundred years, Jack had thought he'd met every Spirit at least once, but that is apparently not the case. This is a Spirit he's _never _met before, he's almost positive. Awkwardly, Jack clears his throat and asks, "I'm sorry, but…we haven't met before, have we?"

"No," she murmurs, flitting closer to him. "We have not had the pleasure, have we? But…there was something… oh! Yes, now we are meeting! We are meeting now! This certainly _is _exciting!"

Unwilling to offend this Spirit, as he was wont to do (and has done multiple times when confronted with others' particular eccentricities), he ignores his reservations about her odd exclamations and asks, "What is your name?"

"Jinivra," she responds, her form becoming more distinct for a mere second before shuddering into a blur of mist. "Jinivra is a little too formal, though, for the Spirit of Wishing Wells, isn't it? Only my father calls me Jinivra. That is why prefer Jinny, Jack Frost. Please call me Jinny (1)."

"Jinny," Jack repeats, a shy smile spreading across his face. "You know, this is actually kind of cool. I didn't realize there was a wishing spirit!"

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wishes he could kick himself. _Smooth, Frost_, he berates himself.

He nearly leaps out of his skin when she suddenly laughs. "No need to hurt yourself, Jack Frost. Not a lot of our kind know of my existence," she muses, causing Jack's eyes to widen in surprise. "I like to keep to myself, you know. I do not like seeing strife or conflict in the world, and I suppose I am not much a fighter for it, am I?" She hums, and tendrils of mist weave around Jack. "That is why I am so grateful to you, Jack Frost. Thank you."

Her calm and almost lazy way of speaking makes it no easier for Jack to process all that she just said, and he stutters, "How—how did you…?"

"I know of all wishes, Jack Frost. The bad, the good, the ones made in rage and greed, and those made in desperation and sadness. Even though I haven't the power to grant all and every wish to its full potential, I do what I can. Those I deem true, pure, and innocent of heart may just see their wishes granted, but I am only allowed to grant three wishes a year. Only three. The others, I may not be able to grant their wish, but I try to ease their troubles, their pain, and their hardship…"

"That's _amazing_," he breathes. The awe and wonder in his voice is undeniable, and he grins. "That's—that's actually more than amazing. Our world is far bigger than I realize, isn't it?"

Instead of answering, Jinny's silver eyes glow with hardly contained curiosity. "Oh, you _are _different, aren't you, Jack Frost?"

Taken aback, he rubs the shaft of his staff and tries to follow her eyes as she circles around him. "I—um—I suppose? I am young, so to speak, so…"

"That is not what I meant." Her silver eyes are piercing. "I have told you about my abilities, and yet you—_you_ think of the good they can do _others_…rather than what good they could do _you_. Yes…yes, I do believe you are the one."

"I'm the one that…?"

"Who is Pip to you, Jack Frost?" Jinny interrupts abruptly, blinking like an owl.

Jack's breath catches in his throat, and he jerks away from the odd Spirit in shock. Unbidden memories of mused mousy brown hair and laughing brown eyes flash through his mind, and the pang in his chest, so much more powerful than the touch of a hundred Nightmares, causes him to avert his eyes and stare at his bare feet. His throat tightens against a flood of emotion, which he had been carefully constructing a dam for since his memories returned.

Hearing her name nearly makes all his hard work come undone.

The others didn't—they didn't need to be aware of how close that dam was to breaking. They needed him to keep his head on straight. They needed him to smile and joke and be Jack Frost. Since regaining his memories of Jackson Overland, _all_ he's done is be Jack Frost.

That doesn't keep the replays of the memories at bay, and that doesn't change the fact that he hasn't allowed himself to take a moment to just be _Jack. _He hasn't allowed himself to think about the fact that his Pip is now long dead, that he _left her alone_, living with must have been a profound amount of guilt and pain for his death…

Who knows just how badly the incident affected her? Did she have an everlasting fear of water? Did she ever skate again? No, she had to have. She _loved _to skate, and—and…

It would _kill _him if he were the cause for _any _pain or fear in her life.

"I—I haven't—I haven't told _anyone _about her," he manages to choke out, a protective edge in his voice. "I only…just remembered her name, not too long ago… Before he can have the chance to stop it, the dam finally cracks. "_God, _how could I forget her name, Jinny? _Why_? Why did I have to forget my little sister for _three hundred years?_"

"I cannot tell you the mind of the Man in the Moon," Jinny says sympathetically, "But I can tell you that you have a wish, do you not, Jackson?" she asks in her soft, surreal voice. The use of his human name takes him off guard, and finally, he understands what it is that she is offering him.

A chance.

"I—I do," he says, his heart swelling. "I do, and I want more than _anything _to see her again—to speak with her one last time, just to tell her that I don't blame her—but…" He bites his lip, and his hope-inflated heart is punctured. "I _can't_."

"Oh? And why can't you?"

Mind whirling, Jack stares at the Spirit, unable to decide if she's mocking him or truly unable to see how _difficult _it would be for him to make this wish, to see it become _real_. "How can I _see_ her again?" he asks aloud, his words hardly capable of conveying all of his tumultuous confusion and hesitant hope. "After…after everything that's happened, how can I just see her again?"

"By saying please," Jinny laughs cheekily (2). "I do owe you a favor for helping me with that nasty abomination of Pitch's."

"You don't owe me anything," Jack is quick to assert. "It's just…Another child could do with that wish more than I can."

Jinny giggles, twisting and turning in the air. "Oh, Jackson, that is truly noble, but I have been _waiting_ for this moment. Of course, I did not necessarily realize who and what I was waiting for until now, but I was waiting for you all the same."

"You've been _waiting _to run into me_?_" Jack blurts. Never in a million _years _would he imagine a fellow Spirit saying that to him. Over the past three centuries, he had been a bit of a nuisance, and most of the Spirits he met had already seemed to have had made their judgments and assumptions about him. His reputation was not the best and brightest. "Just to grant me a wish?"

"Oh, yes, indeed I have. Father Time, who sits on Man in Moon's council, has foreseen this and has given me special permission to grant this one when I felt I found the right person. And don't look at me like that! After all, with this single wish, I'll be killing two birds with one stone, and you, Jack Overland Frost, are special and are deserving of this chance."

"What—what do you…?"

"You can't expect that you are the only one who wishes for a second longer, can you?"

It takes a moment for her words to sink in, and a brilliant smile spreads from ear to ear. "Pip," he whispers.

For a brief second, Jinny's smile becomes sharp and distinct in the mist. "Then I do believe that I will be using my first wish of the year for you…and for your Pip."

Overwhelmed, Jack can do no more than stutter, "This…this is…this is happening? This is really…_Thank you_."

"Ah, do not thank me yet! You have yet to say the magic word."

Jack's awed grin morphs into a playful smirk, and he's just about to shoot a weak quip at her when his face drops, worry and concern replacing his joy. He whips around and tries to peer through the fog. "Oh, no. Dammit, what about—?"

"Your friends?" Jinny shrugs. "You will not be missed, I assure you. I will explain everything to the Guardians. It will be great to see Toothiana again. She was always kind. Now, the magic word, Jack."

Pushing away his worries and allowing excitement and anticipation to bubble within again, he looks back at the wishing Spirit. "Please."

Laughing blithely, Jinny's form condenses into a thin stream of mist, and she weaves her way into the air above Jack's head, a ribbon of pearly white streaking through the dark fog. The ribbon encircles on itself and begins spinning, and as it spins, mist billows inward, toward the very center of the circle that the Spirit had created.

When the mother-of-pearl mists cease spinning and churning, a thin tendril extends from the center and pours forth. Dazzling silver eyes blink open from the mass of mist that had just been expelled from what Jack can only assume is a portal, and Jinny skips her way back to Jack's side.

"Is—is that…?"

"This portal will take you to her—back in time. It will be just days after your human self's death."

Jack nods mutely, his gaze fixated on the portal. "How much time to I have?" he asks dazedly.

He doesn't know if it's weird, pathetic, or amusing that he's only just realizing _now _how strange his life has become…and how _okay _he is with that. It makes him want to laugh until his stomach hurts, and the fact that that portal is all that's keeping him from seeing Pippa again only makes it harder not to break into hysterics.

"I can only give you so much time," she explains. "Crossing timelines like this usually has disastrous results, but if you do not linger too long and if you heed my warnings, no harm will be done, and, indeed, some wounds might just heal this day. The Wind will be there to tell you when time is up."

Jack, unable to speak, merely nods again, but when he takes a step forward, Jinny makes him halt. "Jack," she says kindly as he flashes his gaze over his shoulder, "do not be afraid. Your memories have been repressed for a long time, and for some reason, you are yet still repressing them. Don't. Otherwise, you might regret your wish."

Closing his eyes, Jack releases a soft sigh, and with a pounding heart, his carefully constructed dam finally busts. Tears slide down his cheeks, and long-forgotten images, emotions, feelings, and impressions flit through his mind and heart with the speed of a hummingbird. His eyes open, and he steps into the mists.

"I won't."

* * *

(1) Play on the word "genie" ;) I know that the name is more similar to that of Ginny Weasley's, but I was trying to channel some Luna Lovegood into this character. I hope it translated!

(2) Inspired by a line in Pixar's "The Incredibles," which I do not own.

Oz out.


	2. Ghost

Disclaimer: I don't own RotG

AN: Just a little note warning you that there are some very, _very_ minor references to religion in here. Considering that Jack was alive during the 1700s, when America was first creating developing into her own country, we can assume that he, like all the people in that time period, was brought up in a religious household. Unfortunately for me, I didn't even think about being historically accurate, so I did not research the main religion that was practiced around the area of Burgess in that time period. Instead, I subconsciously made his family Catholic because I was raised as such and knew nothing more.

Now, _that _being said, I'm sure it's all very, very incorrect and unorthodox for this time period, so just roll with it. ;)

Enjoy!

* * *

**~Ghost~**

As Jinny's misty tendrils envelop him, his entire vision blurs into white. It's so bright that he squeezes his eyes shut, and an invisible force wraps itself around his chest, constricting the air out of his lungs. Eyes flashing open, he gasps and topples forward. Thankfully, his ingrained awareness of the Wind and his own body in flight saves him from completely somersaulting out of the portal, but his entrance into the past is nonetheless embarrassingly clumsy.

Disoriented, Jack swings his staff in a half-circle in front of him in an attempt to balance himself, and after blinking rapidly, he drops lightly to the ground and looks around…

His breath catches in his throat.

It is _home._ The clearing. The frozen lake. Despite the obvious signs of the nearing spring, Jack can sense a cold front stirring. It will snow tonight again, he knows, but even so, beneath his bare feet, the ice is thinning. In fact, it is so thin that Jack knows—somehow, he knows that the ice will crack and his past self will rise to the Moon tonight.

_This is so bizarre, _he muses excitedly, crouching down onto his haunches and placing his palm against the ice. To think that he is _here_, on the surface, and that he's also _down there_, waiting to be awoken. It is mind-boggling and _fascinating, _and he is almost tempted to take a peek, just to see if he can see himself floating below, just to see…

He can do more than _see._

Jack's fingers twitch, miniscule cracks erupting beneath his palm. It would be so _easy_ to break through and pull his other self out. It would be so easy to save himself from his fate. Right here, right now. This Jack didn't have to suffer. This Jack didn't _have _to live for three hundred years, forever _wondering… _

With a shaky gasp, he flinches his hand away and jerks himself to his feet. Despite the fact that the ice will not yield to his weight _now, _he is suddenly uneasy, and he taps his staff to the lake's frozen surface, thickening and reinforcing it.

He shouldn't be here, he realizes with a shudder. This—this isn't…

No. This isn't why he's here. It's wrong, so wrong…

Suddenly, it's less incredible than it is _nauseating_. Because his transformation into a Spirit is not yet complete in this time, is it? That—that means he's…

Backing away, each footprint leaving a glaze of frost in its wake, Jack stares at the place where he fell through the ice, where he can see it all playing out in his mind—over and over and over again. Pip's scream of his name resounds in his ears. The tear in her voice, her eyes wide with fear and shock…

_Pip, _he reminds himself. _You are here for _her.

His terrified excitement returns with a vengeance, and its so powerful he feels sick to his stomach.

Trying to calm himself, he doesn't realize he's made it to the bank until he trips over it. Light on his feet, however, he catches himself and gracefully turns around to view the surrounding forest, but before he can look for the familiar plume of smoke rising from the cottage's chimney, something at his feet catches his eye. Throat thickening with the threat of tears, he allows himself to sink to his knees into the mushy mixture of melting snow and sand, and hesitantly, he reaches pale fingers toward the object.

It is a small cross, adorned with bright leaves of ivy and holly, and Jack realizes that it is not the only one. More are scattered across the bank. There are no flowers to be seen—it is hardly the end of winter, after all—but the people of his village made up for the lack thereof with colored candles, gifts of goodwill, and symbols and tokens of peace…

There is only one thing missing: a headstone. There are no inscriptions of any kind to be had, no pile of stones to mark the place of his death, and _that, _more than anything, makes his tears overflow.

He remembers and, through his tears, smiles.

_"Jack? You alright?" Ma had asked as they walked down the grassy slope, away from the mourning song of church bells._

_ Pa, who was lagging behind due to the fact that he was dealing with a sleepy Pippa, immediately caught up with the pair of them and looked over at his son, who had been quiet all throughout the funeral service._

_ With a mixture of a scowl and perturbed frown on his face, little Jack had turned back to look at the sea of gray. Stone upon stone. Cold, dark, so horribly, horribly eerie. Despite the fact that there was an _army_ of them, Jack had never before seen anything so lonely._

_ "Why do they use stones?" Jack had finally asked._

_ His parents had exchanged glances before Pa shifted his baby sister in his arms and answered, "It is to remember those who go to Heaven, son. So that generations to come can—"_

_ Shaking his head violently, Jack frowned. "No. No. When I die, I don't want to be buried," he had interrupted, brown eyes adamant and determined. "Not _there_, at least."_

_ "Dear," Ma had said, distress coloring her tone at the scorn in her son's voice and the accusing glare he shot the church cemetery. "That's—You don't have to worry about that for some time to come, God willing. Please, don't speak ill of the dead."_

_ "I'm not," Jack had pouted, unsure of why he was being reprimanded. "I'm speaking ill of the _stones_."_

_ His parents, despite themselves, had looked mildly amused. Jack had always spouted off flamboyant and imaginative stories, theories, and ideas, so they had relaxed. They had believed that this was no different than the times that Jack told them he'd seen a giant beast-man in the forest or the times that he told them that, one day, he'd be able to fly. _

_Indulgently and patiently, Pa had asked, "And why is that?" _

_"What use is carving a name on a stone?" Jack had responded. "A stone can't remember you." _

_ Blinking, Pa eventually said, "The stones help _us_ remember them."_

_"But they shouldn't!" Jack had cried. "Shouldn't we remember them _before_? Auntie Katherine would have wanted us to—to remember her stories and the times we had supper after church with her and the—the time that I accidentally ruined her knitting and the times she gave me stern looks whenever I nicked food before saying Grace…She'd want to be remembered like _that_. Not as some stone with her name on." _

_And the little seven-year-old boy who had not shed a tear since his great aunt died—the little boy who his parents thought was too young to understand death, too young to realize what had truly happened—suddenly began to cry. _

They never spoke of that incident afterwards, and Jack had most certainly never brought it up again, not after his parents, now more worried than amused about their son's behavior and peculiar ideas, began sending him to Confession every other week. Not that it did much good. Thereafter, Jack became more rebellious and unorthodox, and it was most certainly apparent that, years later at Pa's funeral, he would always harbor a somewhat irrational fear and hatred of tombstones…and of how they reduced a person who once was _important_ to someone into something so impersonal as a _rock._

And his mother—his mother _remembered_. Despite her religious upbringing, despite what the Church and what superstition might have said about having a proper burial…

They held the funeral here. Recently. Jack can see the beads of solidified wax alongside the sides of the candles. He can see the trails left behind by dragging cloaks and the wave of slushy footprints surrounding the small rise of land by the great oak tree, before which the preacher must have stood.

Jack's long fingers gently trace the grain of the wood, and overcome by a sense of bittersweet surprise, he closes his eyes. Half-remembered echoes of stern voices, raised voices, disappointed and angry voices resound in his ears, but it doesn't matter anymore. It doesn't matter because they _did _care.

_They did care_.

Loud crashing and snapping branches startle him into dropping the cross, and he flinches backward into the air. His staff shifts in his grasp, crook pointing toward the oncoming threat, but before Jack can blink, a small form bursts free of the ring of trees. Stumbling, it hits the ground, makes a feeble attempt to rise, and instead curls up into a ball.

Jack blinks, his defensive posture relaxing and limbs falling limply to his side, and he—he…

She—Oh, God. She. That…That's…

He'd recognize her anywhere.

"_Pip,_" Jack whispers, his voice cracking. He reaches a hand toward her as if to offer comfort, but he's still floating at the edge of the lake. She's yards away, her back facing him. She's so close, yet Jack cannot find it in himself to move, to think, to breathe. Numb with shock and frozen by a mixture of excitement and terror and pain, he watches her slowly pull herself upright, hug her knees to her chest, and rub her nose across her sleeve.

And when she finally raises her tear-bright eyes to the lake, she looks right through him.

The pain of realization and disappointment, frigid and merciless, cripples him, and wrapping his arms around himself, he sinks to the ground. Gasps erupt from his lips, and for the first time in three hundred years, Jack Frost begins to tremble.

Because now that he knows what it feels like to be seen, he can't... No, _not Pippa, too_.

He had forgotten. Too enthralled by his idea, by his wish, by this impossible _chance _to see her again, he had completely forgotten, and now that he remembers—too late, he remembers—he decides that he would rather live another three hundred years alone than experience _this. _

His sister—_his Pip_—didn't believe. She didn't believe in _him_.

_Perhaps this was a mistake_.

As soon as the awful suggestion, flanked by imagined echoes of his friends' voices and expressions of disapproval, comes to him, he frowns and shoves it away. He shoves away Jinny's vague, kind warnings, and he shoves away assumptions of what the other Guardians might think of his folly. He shoves away his hurt and the reemergence of old wounds and insecurities of Jack Frost. He shoves it all away so that all that remains…is big brother Jackson Overland…and one truth.

Where Pippa is concerned, there is no such thing as a mistake. He has come too far and lived too long to give up now, and he would _never _think to give up on her.

Jack takes a big breath in order to calm his trembling, but he nearly chokes on air when Pip suddenly pounds her fist into the ground beside her and releases a strangled, wordless cry.

"_You took him from me!_" she accuses, tilting her head back to address the sky. "From all of us!"

He's at her side in an instant, and he struggles not to take her in his arms—she would go right through him, he reminds himself—as she hugs her knees closer to her chest.

"He—he was my brother, and you took him. You _took him_. _Why_? Give me a _reason!_" she continues to scream, tears streaming from her puffy red eyes. "Why him? Why now? You already took my Pa. Did you have to take _Jack_ too? He was only _seventeen_, and—and…it isn't_ fair!_"

"Oh, Pip," Jack whispers.

Burrowing her face into her knees, she weeps and shakes fit to fly apart, and with a throbbing heart, Jack sits as near as he dare and whispers comforting words to her, not unlike he did when Pa passed away. "Don't cry, Pip. Not over me. I'm _here_. I'm here," he repeats.

She can't hear him, but it makes him feel like he's…there for her. If only she could _see _him, talk with him…as he rambles to his sister, Jack tries to consider his options. He can easily enlist the Wind's help in proving to her that he is here, but how can he be sure that she'll recognize the signs he leaves her? How can he be sure she'll see them as _signs _at all? Any normal person will retreat inside if a cold wind starts blustering around them, after all. He does not want to frighten her either, not when she is in such a fragile state.

By the time Pippa reemerges, wiping her face and nose with her sleeve, Jack has no brilliant ideas, and with a helpless sigh_, _he shifts so that he crouches before her. Still, her eyes look straight through him and fixate on the lake, and he swallows harshly, his grip on his staff tight.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles. "I—I just…it's so hard to realize he won't—he won't be coming back. I won't be able to see him smile or hear him laugh again. He always loved to laugh, and even—even at the end, he smiled. I'm sure he's still laughing, smiling, wherever he is. That won't change."

A lump rises in Jack's throat, yet he smiles.

"Ma doesn't like me coming here," she continues, her voice stronger. "She hasn't been back since the funeral. I think it's wrong that she doesn't come back. She thinks it's unhealthy to come back so often, but—" her tone becomes bitter "—but she's the one who doesn't come outside anymore, and she's the one who hardly talks but to tell me off for coming here. It's like when Pa died, all over again."

Anger, biting and hot, suddenly courses through Jack, and an unbidden cuss slips from his lips as he flings himself to his feet. The memories—memories he hadn't considered in centuries—flood through his broken dam, and these…these hurt. When Pa died, he remembers, Ma became no more than a vegetable, unresponsive and uncaring, as she grieved. All of her housekeeping responsibilities, therefore, had fallen onto Jack. He had to skip lessons to care for their flock and his sister, and it was bad. The neighbors saw nothing wrong, and for awhile, their family was on the brink of falling apart. It had taken the combined efforts of Jack, whose begging and pleading had done no good at first, and his grandmother, who had come from Boston in response to the letter Jack was desperate enough to send, to bring Ma out of it and help her _live _again.

It hurt to remember, and she now is doing it again. _Again! _If she thinks she is honoring his memory by retreating into herself to mourn, she is wrong, and Jack feels sick just _thinking _about it. No, what she was doing was neglecting Pippa, the last of their immediate family…

Who is shaking violently with the cold exuding from him. Appalled at himself for losing control of his powers, Jack hefts his staff and rises above his sister in the hopes he might release some of that energy away from her, where he couldn't hurt her.

He can still hear her speak from where he floats. "I had never seen Jack so angry before," she muses. "No doubt he'd be angry now to see this, too. He'd hate…hate to see what's…what's _happened _to us because of—of…"

And as Jack scans his sister from above and notices her too-thin form and her hollowed cheeks and her sad eyes, his anger gives way to intense worry. In his frustration and _guilt, _he releases a snarl and whips his staff to shoot a blast of ice toward the forest. Because this time, it is _his _fault, and this time—this time he's not even there to care for Pippa in the way their mother wouldn't. He's not _there_, and she's alone. "How can she do this again?" he growled, his hand running through his white hair. "Does she not _realize_—?"

He cuts himself off when he realizes Pippa has stopped speaking. Instead, she's staring toward the trees, which had rustled and shook when his ice bolt shot past, with a strange look on her face.

Shrugging her shoulders and rubbing her arms to ward off the chill, she looks back to the lake. "Grandmother is staying with us again, though," Pippa says, and a powerful rush of relief makes Jack, who had half a mind to go to his mother now and smack her out of this foolishness, immediately relax his tense muscles and release a breathy _thank God_. "I'm glad to have her. She's trying to work Ma around, and she doesn't stop me when I come here…" His sister suddenly releases a watery laugh. "You used to call her a crazy old coot, Jack. She hasn't changed a bit, and she—she tells me…"

A pensive look appears on her face, and she exhales heavily. "She tells me that I _should _come here. To talk to you. She tells me what you used to tell me, Jack—that those who die never truly leave us, that so long as they remain in our hearts, they are there to watch over us…and will hear us."

A small smile appears on her face in remembrance, and Jack realizes belatedly that this is the second time she has addressed _him_. Personally. Hardly daring to hope, he cautiously lowers himself before her once again, but it is in vain. She does not see him.

"Come on, Pippa," Jack mutters. "You have to _believe_. You have to believe me."

"But it's hard to believe," she says, almost in response to his quiet demand. "It's so hard because…every time I allow myself to believe, it hurts that much more when I don't see you walking in the door after a day out with the animals at suppertime. It hurts that much more to realize that you're gone and you won't be coming back." Her brown eyes fill with tears. "_Please_, Jack. I need a sign."

And just like that, the pathway is clear, and there is nothing holding him back now. Despite the melancholy atmosphere, a grin begins to spread across his lips, and Jack reaches for her face with a gentle hand. When his fingertips are just centimeters away, he twists his wrist, directing a soft gust of Wind to brush along her cheek.

He draws away just in time for Pippa to gasp and reflexively shoot her hand up to her cheek.

"Jack?" she breathes. Despite the caution and suspicion in her voice, there is an expression of shock and awe in her eyes, and with a smirk, Jack switches to her other cheek. When her hand flies to the spot and her eyes widen to an impossible degree, he begins to chuckle, and he flutters his fingers again, this time directing the Wind to play with her hair.

Scrambling to her feet, Pippa whips around and says, "If that's you, Jack, I swear to goodness—"

Laughing, Jack teases, "Of course it's me. Who else could it be?" Another gust of wind makes her hair fly into her eyes, and when she whirls around again, he flits behind her to blow the hood of her cloak over her head. She flings it down only to have to blown up again.

"Jack!" she whines in irritation. It is _beautiful _to hear again—that tone that suggests she is more mature and responsible than he is, that tone that suggests she thinks he's being silly and doesn't want to see him hurt himself or get himself into trouble…or that simply suggests she's _beyond_ annoyed with his tricks.

"_Pi-ip!_" he mocks, as he always did, his grin broadening.

"Stop i—!" She suddenly stops dead in her tracks.

Jack stops laughing immediately, and dropping to the ground, he waits. He waits for her to turn around, for her to speak or to make a sign that she knows he's there. When no reaction seems forthcoming, he attempts, "Pip?"

There is an obvious smile in his voice, but it seems to scare her more than anything. Her shoulders rise to her ears, looking as though she's just been caught sneaking out of bed on Christmas Eve to try to see Santa, and her entire body stiffens.

He exhales a chuckle because she can _hear him_, but that smile drops when she starts muttering, "Maybe Ma was right. Maybe I shouldn't be coming here. Now I'm hearing things. He—he can't be…"

Biting his lip, Jack says carefully, "You know that's not true, Pip."

She sucks in a panicked breath, her head shaking back and forth in denial. "No, no, you're not here. You're not really here."

"If you truly believed that," Jack says, stepping closer, "you wouldn't be able to hear me—"

Finally, _finally, _she turns around, and Jack smiles nervously at her. "—or see me," he finishes.

Pippa stares at him, and it takes a moment for him to see that she hardly recognizes him. _And how can she?_ he wonders. With his twenty-first century hoodie, he surely must be an odd sight, and if that isn't shocking enough by itself, his hair is now white; his eyes, blue.

He probably looks a freak to her.

"No-no," she stutters. "You—you can't be…_You're not real._"

Grimacing, he runs his hand up and down his staff, an action that draws her attention away from his physical changes, and he tries to smile again. "It's me, Pip. I'm here."

Her expression clouds and eyes darken with distrust. "Where did you get that?"

He follows her eyes to the staff. "It's mine?"

"No, it's my brother's. It—He…"

"I used it to save your life."

"You are _not him_!" she denies, backing away. "No, get away. Go! Leave me alone, ghost! I—I don't want—I don't…"

Her words sting, but he ignores her and inches forward again. "Pip, I'm not a ghost."

"_Stop calling me that_," she growls. "Only—only _Jack_…"

"Pip, it's _me_," he repeats. "I may not look the same, but I'm _me."_

"You're a _liar_!"

"Pip, would I trick you?"

"Yes! You always play tricks!"

Silence falls hard and heavy, and the pair of siblings stare at each other, overcome with the fact that they had just repeated the very same argument…the very last one they had.

Tentatively, Pippa takes a few steps forward, her inquisitive, sharp eyes appraising every feature. "Is—is it really you?"

Jack merely nods.

"But you're—how can you be here? You're _dead_."

"That was blunt, Pip," Jack teases weakly. "But I'm not dead. Not necessarily."

She blinks at him and comes to a stop right in front of him. Her uneasy eyes dart from his white hair to his pale bare feet and back again. "What _happened_ to you?" his sister whispers.

Lowering himself to his haunches, Jack places a hand on her shoulder, only to have her flinch at the cold. He withdraws his hand and mutters, "Sorry. I know I'm cold, but you don't have to be afraid."

"Dead brothers don't _normally _come back, Jack!" Pippa snipes sarcastically. "What _isn't _there to be afraid of?"

"I'm not dead. I'm not a ghost. I'm…a Spirit. From the future," he confesses. "When I fell through the ice, I was transformed…into this." He gestures at himself. "Like Santa, like the Easter Bunny…I am one of them. I took the place of Old Man Winter, and I have…all his magic. Don't you remember those tales?"

Seeing her blank stare, Jack just continues to ramble, "I—erm—I'm not explaining myself too well, am I? I didn't think this through."

"That hasn't changed then."

He is just as surprised as she appears to be. After recovering from the all-too-normal quip, he protests, "Hey! I'm trying, but I don't have a lot of time here." The Wind is good to remind him of such by ruffling his hair at these words. "It's just…it's really great to see you," he choked. "It's been a long time."

"What—what do you mean?"

"Three hundred years ago," Jack explains hesitantly, "I fell through the ice. I was gifted with the power to control winter, and I lost my memories. All of them, Pip. I've only just recently recovered them, and since the Spirit of Wishing Wells owed me a favor, I had the chance to come back to this time—to _now_—so I could see you again, just…just to say—"

Before he can say anything more, Pip interrupts, and her eyes well with tears. "Now I _know _this isn't real. Time travel? Magic? I don't _believe_ you."

"Must you always see to believe?" Jack grumbles, and holding his palm aloft, he blows on his hand, and in infusing his breath with his winter magic, a perfect, glimmering snowball forms.

He offers it to her, but she shakes her head and retreats from him, a few tears falling freely. She will not look at him as she says with utter finality, "This is a dream."

And Jack's heart shatters. "Pip…"

"Since that day," she interrupts, "I dream about you all the time, Jack. I dream about you falling through the ice, and I dream about you coming back, as though nothing had happened. I see memories in my dreams, too. Every night, I dream, and every morning, I wake up wishing I could never sleep again. If I could never sleep, then I wouldn't dream. I just—I can't handle it, Jack, so _please, stop. _Please stop_ and go away._ This…this is a dream too good to be true, too strange to be real, and I don't want to believe it, not when I know waking up is going to hurt so much."

The snowball in his hand explodes into hundreds of individual snowflakes as he realizes what he's done. What he's _doing_.

He's hurting her.

And he feels so selfish. He never once considered how this meeting might affect _her_, how painful it would be. He only thought of himself. He only thought of the relief _he_ would feel knowing that Pippa knew she shouldn't feel guilty. He only thought about what _he_ would say to her to tell her he didn't blame her. He only thought of how glad she would be glad to see _him_ and how glad she would be to be released from the burden of _his_ "death."

He, his, him…What about _her?_

It turns out she has been tempted so many times by the promise of seeing him again that she doesn't want to get burned again.

"I'm so sorry, Pip," Jack says, beginning to back away. "I didn't realize, and I'm going to go now. I don't want to hurt you, and I didn't mean to scare you, so I'll go."

She doesn't respond, and with a lump rising in his throat, he rises into the air and whispers, "Goodbye."

There is yet again no response, and he pauses, hoping to hear at least a goodbye. To hear _something _from her. When the silence extends for a few more minutes, his shoulders slump forward in defeat, and as he ducks his head, a single crystal tear slides down his nose to fall into the ground below.

He watches it fall, and upon sensing someone watching him, his eyes suddenly snap to his sister once again.

Having been caught watching, she diverts her eyes, and he can't help but smile.

_She still sees him_.

If she still sees him, she _believes _in him. She truly believes he is there. The realization strikes him full force, and determination floods him. Because he can't—he _won't_ say goodbye like this. He _refuses. _

This is his last chance.

"Someone once taught me," Jack begins, "that memories are to be treasured. Another taught me that dreams are beautiful, and others, that wonder and hope are always there. Even in the darkness. But of everything I've learned, there was nothing more special than the lesson I learned the day I became an older brother: what it meant to love someone so much that you would sacrifice anything…just to see a smile. To hear a laugh."

He pauses when he notices her shoulders quaking with the force of her crying, but her entire posture has changed. She is listening, even if still pretending to ignore him. She was never all that good of an actress. "I may be gone, Pip," he continues, "but remember… so long as those who leave us remain in our hearts, they are there to watch over us. As will I you."

At these words, she cannot pretend anymore, and she raises her eyes to look at him. Knowing that there is nothing more he can do, he gives her one last smile and nods to the Wind, who is ready to bear him home.

* * *

TBC...

Oz out


	3. Never and Always

**~Never and Always~**

"W-wait…" Pippa suddenly stammers. "Jack." At the sound of his name, he turns gracefully in the air, and all he sees is a flash of brown before he is tackled around the middle. Tears continue to fall, and they dampen his frost-adorned hoodie as she buries her face into his chest, pulls him toward her, and mumbles incessant apologies. His bare toes once again brush the dominion of the Earth and settle there, and immediately, he kneels in the last of the melting snow and draws her into an even fiercer embrace.

The Spirit knows that the Wind is anxious, that the Wind is blustering around him with a weak murmur of _come, come,_ because his time is limited here, but he can't leave her. Not yet. Not like this. Not when she's finally accepted that this is real, that he's here for her.

"It's—it's you," she sobs. "Really and truly you."

"Really and truly," he echoes.

"You're _here_."

"Not for long, I'm afraid," he says, "but I had to see you, and even though I don't have nearly enough time…I wanted to try."

Jack does not know how long they sit there in silence, clinging to each other and weeping, but eventually, the tears stop, and as much as he wishes he could stay here forever, the full realization that they need to make the most of their time is inevitable. Pippa is the first to speak. "What will I do without you, Jack?" his little sister whispers into his collarbone, her fingers fisting into his hoodie. "And what about _you? _Will—Will…?"

"Hey," Jack says softly as he strokes her hair. "Hey, Pip, look at me."

The sniffling girl reluctantly pulls away and stares at him with wide, innocent eyes, and he brushes away tears with his thumb. Surprisingly, Pippa doesn't retreat from his natural chill this time. She doesn't once flit her gaze to his unnatural white hair or to the ever-present shepherd's crook in his hand or to the frost that now coats the budding blades of grass at their feet. She doesn't look at him as though she's torn between treating him like a stranger and treating him like the brother she once knew…

She is looking at him like the older brother he _is_ and always will be.

"I'll always be here, Pippa," Jack says. "Always." Tapping her nose with the tip of his staff, he adds, "Whenever cold nips at your nose, you'll know."

The girl brushes her fingertips across her chilly nose, but his reassurances do not seem to be enough. "But I'll never see you again."

"No," the Guardian corrects, his voice cracking in pain. "You might see me—so long as you believe in me, you probably _will_ see me; I still call this place my home, even in the far future—but…I-I'll never know you." Frosty blue eyes slide closed in an attempt to disregard the crushing weight of the centuries of loneliness he felt tearing at his heart. "I can't know you until the time is right. Do you understand, Pip?"

"That's—Jack," she sobs breathlessly, "_Jack,_ I'm _so _s-sorry. It's m-my fault. It—It's _all_ my fault."

Jack's eyes fly open, and depending on his shepherd's crook to keep balance, he lowers himself into a crouch and grasps one of her shoulders firmly. "Pip—Pippa, no, no, _never_ think that. What happened to me—saving you…"

"It should have been me!" Pippa nearly screams, her voice tearing. "_It should have been me_!"

"_No_."

There's an authority and ferocity in his tone is so uncharacteristic of him that she is momentarily stunned into silence, and after blinking at him, she adds in a small voice, "If it weren't for me…"

"If it weren't for you, I'd be lost, Pip," Jack asserts. "Iwould have died in spirit without you, and it's because of you that I'm still here, that I'm still _me_. I always will be. It's not easy, being what I am, but this _is_ what I am now. I'm proud of that."

"You—you're _thanking _me," she realizes aloud in a dazed tone.

"Yes. I am. I'm thanking you for all the good times, bad times, and all times in between. Even though I regret that I missed watching you grow up, even though I regret that I can't be here for you when you need a goofy older brother to pick up your spirits…or when you need a thoughtful older brother's shoulder to cry on… even though I regret missing all the Christmases and all the Easters and all the family suppers and all the laughter and stories that are yet to come, even though I regret that I didn't remember it all until recently—what I _do _have of you, Ma, and—and Pa…" The hint of a wistful, melancholy smile begins to touch his lips. "It is everything I could have hoped for in life, and it's been an amazing ride, Pip. God, I can't thank you enough."

His eyes are misty by the time that she looks up from her boots and bites her lip. In a small voice—almost as quiet as the snowflakes that drift pass her face, almost as silent as the tears that roll steadily down her cheeks—she whispers, "You—you truly don't blame me?"

Pippa's brown eyes are too old, too torn and broken, and she looks lost, so lost and tormented by grief and guilt. It breaks his heart to know that he _is _to blame for the added years in her eyes, for the emotional burden she bears, and holding her gaze, he says, "No. I never once blamed you."

"You said you didn't have your memories, though. How could you know?" she points out shrewdly.

"I didn't need to have them," Jack says, and the moment he says it, the truth of that statement hits him. Hard. Like a seven-foot wall of stampeding yeti.

Because it _is _true. For _centuries_, he suffered loneliness and rejection. The humans who knew his name hadn't _known _him—not like they had known Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny—and even his fellow Spirits scoffed, sneered, and whispered of his uselessness and his troublemaking whenever and wherever his reputation as a mischievous nuisance preceded him. When they weren't complaining of his tricks and pranks, they were murmuring of all those whose lives were lost to the cold… as though it was his fault that, though he was a winter sprite, his powers would only allow him to do so much.

He never appeared bothered, but some days, he believed them. Some days, he pulled up his hood, neglected the company of everyone but the Wind, his first friend, and drowned himself in a blizzard of his own creation in the seclusion of the Arctic, where his pain would hurt no one. No matter what, however, he would return. He would put a smile on his face, he would play with the children who couldn't see him, and he would pretend.

Some days, he actually was happy and _thrilled_ to be Jack Frost, but on the down days, he couldn't help but think it was all an illusion of his own making…and he never could stop wondering _why_.

So when Tooth had told him that she possessed his memories just weeks ago…he thought that they had been the key to _everything. _Nothing had been more important than discovering what those memories contained because he didn't _understand_. He never understood. Why the Moon chose him, why he had to live through the years upon years of self-doubt, isolation, and feelings of inadequacy and depression_…_

In the end, it never mattered. Now that he _did _have his memories again, now that the dam had broken, Jack realized he had _always, _on some subconscious level, known _exactly_ who he was. He was true to his Center even before being named a Guardian and even before discovering just how _deep_ his Center permeated him as both a human and a Spirit.

He lived and breathed fun in both lives, and God forbid anyone, or anything, dare harm a child under his watch.

And that was the last piece he needed. Memories as human Jackson Overland and lonely winter sprite Jack Frost finally reconciled in his mind, and now—now he knew exactly who "just Jack" was.

"I didn't need to have my memories," Jack repeats, his grin broadening, "to know that I would do it again in a _heartbeat_ if it meant that you would live. This is why I made the wish I did—to tell you that I will be alright, to _show_ you that I'm alright and that you shouldn't feel guilty for what happened. Because it's no trick, Pip. _I don't blame you._ I love you."

Thin arms wrap around his neck, nearly squeezing the breath out of him, and Jack returns the hug with equal pressure.

"Ma always said you were so irresponsible. Pa always said you were so unreliable," Pip murmurs into his back. "I would throw their words at you when I was angry at you. The village—the village used to shake their heads at you, but we—w-w-we—"

"Shh," Jack tries to console. "You don't have to say."

"But I _do," _Pip asserts fiercely, looking up at her brother and rubbing at her eyes. "We were wrong, and we _know_ now, Jack. We know that you're truly the best of us all. I—"

Touched, Jack swallows a lump in his throat and grins lopsidedly as he musses her hair, causing her to scrunch up her nose and swat at him. Like old times. She always hated it when he did that. Chuckling at her response, he is seized by a sudden impulse and asks, "Do you want to hear a story, Pip?"

Her face immediately brightens, for despite what the villagers might have said about Jack, not a single one of them could deny that he was the most engaging and animated storyteller they had ever had the pleasure of listening to. Their children crowded him whenever he came in from the fields with Pa before he passed on, and even the adults found the excuse to hang around the town square whenever Jack amassed a small following of eager kids and began to _speak, _weaving life and energy into his words and _becoming _his characters.

But Pippa realizes that this story—this isn't just _any _story. This isn't a story that Jack would weave himself or a traditional story that he would twist and contort beyond recognition. No, this was _his _story, and their Pa…whenever they would squabble about one of Jack's tall-tales gone too far and Pip demanded that he _tell her the truth_, Pa would always settle any dispute they had by saying, "Jackson, be careful you don't fib yourself into a trap of your own making. You might lose yourself there. And Pippa, truth is like a rose. Approach cautiously because while it may be beautiful from afar, it may yet have thorns up close."

After Pa died, those words died with him, and yet they still had a profound affect on both of them. After that…Jack _never_ lied to her, not even to prevent her pain, and Pip—she loved to learn, to know and discover hidden truths, but since Pa's death, she handled those truths with more care than she ever did before. This alone is why Jack isn't surprised when a battle between curiosity and reluctance rages on her face.

He doesn't press her, and eventually, she nods. "I think I'd like that."

And so Jack begins to tell his sister of a child of the winter, who was awakened by the Moon's song, who first learned to fly and to dance with the Wind, and who wanted nothing more than to share his laughter and joy with those who did not—and could not— recognize him. He begins to tell her how the unseen and unheard child tried to share his gifts with them anyway and how his free spirit was nearly shattered and ravaged beyond all reckoning by time, loneliness, and rejection.

For the most part, however, Jack tells her about the Others, those who protect children and thrive on their belief and the power of their imagination. The collector of memories, the rider of dreams, the warrior of wonder, and the keeper of hope—they are the heroes of his story, and every hero has its villain, so he lowers his voice and tells her of the bringer of nightmares, who nearly destroyed everything the Others held dear, and how the child of winter, once a nobody, was given the chance to be a _somebody_.

He tells her of battles of black and gold, of darkness and ice. He tells her of how the demon manipulated, cheated, and hurt the Others and the children under their protection and how he tempted the winter child. He tells her of the Last Light and how _he _was the true hero, for he was the first to _believe in _the winter child and the first to prove that the children protected the Others just as much as the Others did them.

"In the end," Jack concludes, "the darkness was banished, and the child of the winter realized he had possessed the essence of the Guardians all along."

"Fun," Pippa breathes. She was rather shaken during the first part of his story, but now, her eyes shine with pride and affection. "You found it. Your purpose."

"Every child, every Light," the Guardian said. "I protect. I was chosen to guard their sense of fun."

"They couldn't have chosen better," Pip says, her tone suggesting that any argument made was an argument lost. "D'you—are you _happy_, Jack?"

His face falls slightly at the loaded question. She understands that he is frozen in time, that despite his gifts, despite his Center, he's cursed with an eternal life. "I am now," he admits slowly. "I love what I do. I love making children laugh, and I love reminding them that all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

Pippa starts to snigger, recognizing the proverb. (1) "I doubt that! You could never be dull!"

Jack was laughing when the Wind suddenly shoved him lightly from behind and ruffled his hair. He turns out of reflex, but the message is clear enough. His shoulders drop, and he sighs, turning his eyes downward as a lump rises in his throat.

"You have to go."

Jack's gaze snaps back to his little sister—his Pip, to whom he owed everything and whom he could never let go—and he can't trust himself to speak.

"You can't stay?" she asks, hesitant hope blazing in her eyes.

He shakes his head. "I can't."

Swallowing roughly, she nods and takes a deep breath to calm herself, but her voice is still steady, strong… and almost resigned. "Then this is goodbye?"

"No, not goodbye," Jack denies fervently. "When you say goodbye…Goodbye feels like forever, and forever means…there's an excuse to forget. (2)"

She hugs him tightly again. "I could never forget you," she whispers. "_Never._"

"Nor I you, Pip," Jack responds. "I'm glad I got the chance to see you again. To explain. So glad. I couldn't live…"

This time _he's _the one brushing tears from his cheeks and Pip's the one comforting him. "I'm glad too, Jack, because now I have the chance to say that I'm proud to have you as my big brother," she says, "and that I won't ever stop believing in you, in what you do. And Jack… I don't think I ever said…thank you. Thank you for saving my life. For _everything. _I'm—I'm going to _miss_ you."

Shifting his grip on his staff and glowing with her approval and blessing, he grins. Impulsively, he threads the Wind through his fingers, and with a delicate twist of his wrist, a single, intricate snowflake forms between them. As tiny and fragile and beautiful as a baby's first breath. He blows on it gently, and in infusing his breath with the power of Winter, the snowflake glows blue and grows, hardens…and _crystallizes_.

When he is done, the trinket falls into his waiting palm, and he offers it to his little sister, who watched the entire process with awe and wonder.

"It'll never melt," Jack explains, placing a kiss on her brow. "And it…I want it to help remind you that though I may not be here, I'm with you. Every step of the way."

"I love it," she whispers, her fingertips tracing the pattern of the enlarged snowflake. Brown eyes rise to meet his. "What am I going to do without you, Jack?" his sister asks for the second time that day. This time, however, there are no tears in her eyes, only acceptance, love, and sorrow for what could have been but would never be, and her astute eyes flash, searching, searching…

She waits for something _more_ than just an answer.

And for a moment, Jack can't speak. He can only retrace her face over and over and commit it to memory again. Every freckle and curve, every feature and every emotion that passes through her eyes, he sees and takes note.

Before he can accept that the reason he is doing this is because he will never see her again, a mirror image shines through her, and the resemblance strikes him with utter finality. There is no denying it, no mistaking it, and perhaps he's known it all along.

He sees her in Jamie Bennett and Jamie in her.

Despite everything, a bright grin begins to spread across the winter Spirit's face, and after releasing a mildly shaky chuckle that soon transforms into a genuine laugh, he takes one of her hands in his as he bounds upright. "You will live _life, _Pippa," he finally exclaims, and hefting his staff, he spins her around and gently pulls her into the air with him. "You will live, and you will have _fun_ living."

The Wind helps him keep her aloft, and he laughs and twirls her in a tight, fast circle, not necessarily aware of the flurry of snow that leaps around them in his joy. Pip's delighted giggles peal like sleigh bells, and _oh, how he's missed that sound. _Naturally, he smirks and spins faster.

"Stop! Stop!" Pippa eventually squeals, gasping for breath and making a swipe at him with her free hand.

Jack throws out his staff, and they come to a dizzying halt. Hair wild and untamed, tears streaking down her face from a combination of the Wind's bite and from the force of her laughter, Pippa hops the short distance to the ground. When she catches her breath, she looks up at him… and flashes him a blinding smile.

He does not land. The Wind will not allow him to do so again because it is time. It is time to go.

"Live, love, laugh," Jack advises, and pointing his staff at her, he adds, "and try not to get into _too _much trouble, you hear?"

"Did I hear you correctly?" Pippa teases, cupping her ear dramatically. "You've always said—"

He smirks and joins her in reciting, "There's no such thing as too much trouble."

The Wind tugs at him more forcefully, and before the pair of them, a swirling portal of mist spirals and spins into existence, its soft glow beckoning and calling. On the other side, Jack can sense more than see Jinny's presence.

"There's my ride," he sighs. Turning back to his sister, he says for the final time, "I love you, little Pip."

"I love you, too, Jack. Always."

"Always," he repeats softly. "Thank you, Pippa." Jack flashes her a final smile, and just as he turns to enter the portal to return to his own time, he hears her respond, "_No._ _Thank _you_, Jack Frost._"

The mist cocoons and swallows him, but not before he has the chance to turn back…

He'll never forget the smile she gave him at that last second—bittersweet, brave, proud, _hopeful_…and peaceful and _free_—and he, too, smiles and closes his eyes, allowing the mist to seep into his skin and transport him home. The dam was broken now, and there was no rebuilding it, but Jack finds…he doesn't _want _to rebuild it. Not now and not ever again.

_Thank you, Jack Frost, _she had said, and his spirit soars.

Jack never _once_ told her of his adopted surname.

* * *

(1) According to Wikipedia, this proverb first showed up in a piece of literature in 1659, so it is plausible that it was recognized and used often in the early 1700s in colonial America.

(2) Idea for this line adopted from a quote from J.M. Barrie's _Peter Pan_

AN: And that is the end! I hope you guys enjoyed it! :D

Oz out


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